She's Everything
by chezchuckles
Summary: SPOILERS for Headhunters. "She's a little girl, she's a tigress, and she's a warrior. She's insecure and she's indomitable. She's everything." -Stana Katic on Kate Beckett, Parade Magazine March 16, 2012
1. Little Girl

**She's Everything**

* * *

"She's a little girl, she's a tigress, and she's a warrior. She's insecure and she's indomitable. She's everything."

-Stana Katic on Kate Beckett, Parade Magazine March 16, 2012

* * *

_Little Girl_

* * *

She can't get the stupid thing to work.

Why won't it work for her?

First the espresso machine rebels, burning the back of her hand. Then the stapler jams - Ryan keeps passing his over the desks, sighing at her. Then her printer won't read the ink cartridge; it told her to install a name brand cartridge and she already _has_, thank you very much.

Now this.

Kate types in the fax number slowly, watches all fifteen pages feed into the machine one by one, and then waits.

A horrible sound, like cats being de-tailed, detailed?, and then that incessant busy signal. But this makes _no sense_ at all because this number goes straight to the OCME's email account and it should never (in theory), ever be busy.

She smacks her hand on the cancel button for the third time and calls it quits.

"I give up," she mutters, grabbing the file from the tray and storming out of the break room. Nothing wants to work for her today.

Of course, Castle is the one who usually staples stuff for her, messes with her printer, makes her coffee, and faxes things. She's just - rusty. He's not _that_good; she's just - that bad?

Kate growls and drops the file on Esposito's desk; he and Lanie are dancing around each other again. "Go make a morgue run," she sighs. "Your lucky day."

Espo jumps up, slamming his phone into the cradle with a wide grin, trying to look cool even as he gathers the file. "Oh yeah, yeah. You need a favor? No problem. Just - I'll just run this over to the ME's office. Make sure they get it."

Ryan gives her a sympathetic look. "Fax machine problems?"

"Life problems," she grits out, stalking towards her desk.

She sits with a huff and her chair sinks. A good four inches. Esposito barks a laugh at her, hightails it for the elevator when she glares at him.

She can't get her chair to stay; it sinks no matter what she does.

Ryan steeples his fingers and taps his lips. "You know-"

"Do not say this is karma. This is not karma."

"I wasn't thinking karma. I was thinking Castle."

She rolls her eyes, but every circle only makes her headache worse and her heartache more unbearable. "Has nothing to do with Castle."

"When he's around, you don't usually run into so many-

"Technical difficulties?" she supplies, daring him to say it.

Ryan backs down, glances at his open blotter, rubs the back of his neck. "I'm just saying-"

"Don't say it," she spits out, but even she can hear the way her voice lacks heat, the way it seems to shrink the more she doesn't talk about Castle.

What can she say, really? It all sounds pathetic, even to her own ears.

_He just doesn't love me anymore. He said it once, but he took it back. _

* * *

She's making cold calls to their witnesses. She's the government representative for the case - it's gone federal - and there will be an FBI agent there too, but Kate gets to coordinate all the people slated to give testimony. Yippee. Like herding cats.

She doodles as the phone rings, doodles as she leaves a message. The log sheet is pleasantly covered in sharp, angular black and white expressionism and strange, four-petaled flowers. After a while, she stops noticing and has to actually have a conversation, reminding her witness of the trial date and the likelihood of his appearance in court.

She glances down to the page for the next phone number and realizes she's put their initials in a heart, like she's in third grade all over again, like it could be that easy.

Kate covers her eyes with a hand and has to breathe through the rush of shame, even as a silly and completely worthless _need_ floods her chest.

She wants initials in hearts. She wants hearts-

He's not coming back for her. He's moved on.

* * *

Esposito comes back without the file, so Kate tells him to go all the way to the morgue for it with explicit instructions to make a copy and leave the copy with Lanie.

Esposito stands in the conference room looking none too pleased, a hand on his hip - affecting a rather Ryan pose, actually. "Come on, Beckett. Just have her fax it to us."

"I need the original. You know that."

"By the way, Lanie told me to tell you that you better stop moping about it."

Kate lifts her head from the stack of evidence and blushes. "What?"

He holds up both hands, backing out of the room. "I'm only repeating the message. I don't actually know what you're moping about."

"Sure you don't," she sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "You tell Lanie I'm not moping. I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

But he disappears before she can correct him.

* * *

She's half-eating her grilled chicken salad, drinking the coffee Castle brought earlier this morning when he was body-surfing. She had to reheat it. Like a child, she wouldn't touch it after he said he was looking for Slaughter. Now she wants it, can't stand to think it might be the last-

Esposito pops in. "Hey-"

"Are you _just now_ getting back?"

"Uh. Went to lunch. But. Lanie says-"

"Are you kidding me?" Kate rolls her eyes at Espo. "Stop passing messages in the hall. We have email, she can call-"

"I get it. Very fifth-grade. Circle yes or no, right? But look, on pain of death, I have to deliver this message."

"Fine," she grumbles, waving her hand at him.

"Lanie says you should do something about it. She says you should kiss him on the swings. Whatever that means. I think more fifth grade references?"

She glares at Esposito but he takes one more step inside the room, as if her death stare means absolutely nothing. It's probably lost all its potency, now that her heart is in such a wretched, miserable state.

Another thing that's Castle's fault.

"Hey, Beckett?"

"What?" She picks at her salad and averts her eyes. The burning behind her lids is getting harder to ignore. _Kiss him on the swings._

"You know what they call this guy, Slaughter, right?"

Her chest clenches so painfully all she can do is nod her head.

"The Widowmaker," he elaborates, as if she didn't already know that.

"I know," she gets out.

"So. You ain't gonna do anything about it?"

She lifts her head, her lips pressed together for a moment to keep it back. Her nostrils flare as she tries to breathe.

"Javi, if he wants to pull someone else's pigtails, there's nothing I can do about it."


	2. Warrior

**She's Everything**

* * *

_Warrior_

* * *

His heart is in his guts and he's not sure if it's because of the sucker punch or because of the way Beckett looks walking back to him, fierce and indomitable and-

"Hey," he breathes out, and glances up at her. "Thanks very much for your help."

_Very much? So lame-_

"No problem, Castle." Her eyes grow dim as she looks at him, then flash again. "It's what partners are supposed to do."

She walks away from him, all strutting and strong and _tall_, and he wishes he wasn't still doubled over or he'd go after her.

* * *

He goes after her anyway, when he's a little more manly again, and finds her in the conference room, shuffling through photographic evidence. A case he knows nothing about - a reminder that she still has a job to do even when he's not here.

Beckett glances up at him, a mask over her face, strong as armor. She says nothing.

He goes for a smile that falls flat. "Hey."

She straightens the glossy full-sheet photos, lays them back down in the file folder. "What do you need, Castle." No question, really, just a glittering hardness to her voice that puts him on warning.

"Vales-"

"He won't make trouble for you."

For - for him? Ohhh, he hadn't thought of - of retribution.

"Castle?"

He nods at that, wipes a hand down his face. "I - uh - that didn't occur to me."

"Well. I took care of it."

There are so many things. And he just - he wishes he could say them, but he thinks he's lost even that right, but maybe he should.

"Also," she says, her voice sardonic. "I don't want him in my city."

He bobs his head at that, comes through the door and closer to where she stands. The conference room table is between them. "Thanks for - you're a good partner, Ka-"

The look on her face stops him.

"Beckett."

An eyebrow. Okay. So he's - uh - he's not forgiven? He's not sure.

Still, he's gonna say it. It's got be said.

Uh, no. No he can't.

Another raised eyebrow, that fierce look that makes him step back.

"You're right," he starts. "It used to work well. But maybe not - not so much recently."

Wow. She's gorgeous even when she's looking at him like that - like she wants to drop him. And fierce. Has he said that? Yeah. But still. Absolutely fierce. Nothing can stand in her way, nothing gets past her, nothing-

Well, okay, some stuff gets past her. She doesn't seem to have a clue as to why he's so hurt, and he's gotta stop that. It's immature, and she's an Amazon woman right now, and it's probably not a good idea to cross her.

And it's not being a good partner. He wanted to at least - at least to do that one thing well. If he can't do the rest.

"Not so much recently?" Narrowed eyes, a hand on her hip, two fingers pressed against the table as she studies him. As if she's saying, _Whose fault is that?_

"Yeah." He nods and ducks his head, clears his throat. "I uh."

She continues to regard him, and he can't figure out why exactly he feels the need to apologize. Because she promised him-

Oh wait. She only ever promised this right here.

Exactly what she's been doing this whole time. She's been his partner. She's promised to have his back, stand with him in the fight (unlike Slaughter, who ate bar snacks and chuckled to himself). And Castle should be able to return the favor; she deserves no less.

"Yeah," she says quietly, steel in her voice. "Well, I've got another hour of this and then-"

"I'll stay," he says quickly, taking it. Not sure what _it_ is, only that she still makes him defensive and churlish and he needs to work on that. He needs to figure out a way to not hurt so very damn much when she's around, because she - as his partner - deserves better.

She pauses, then nods briskly. "Okay."

His chest eases. "Need some coffee?"

She curls her hand around the top of the file on the table, her mouth spreading in that thin-lipped smile. When she lifts her head to look at him, it's like she's laying down her sword.

A sigh escapes her lips. "Yeah. I do, actually. Coffee would be - welcome."

Good.

At least he's accomplished a ceasefire.

* * *

_Tomorrow._

Okay. That's it. They've had their detente these past couple of weeks - Castle coming in when he feels like it and carefully avoiding her, cases where they stand at opposite sides of the board and talk around each other, and then these strange moments where he watches her struggle with the espresso machine and doesn't help until she's actually been burned or given up.

She doesn't get it.

Or well, she didn't.

Until this case.

Until-

And she just went out on a thin little branch of a limb to tell him - tell him all that - the wall - and _what_? He gets to stare dumbly at her and take it all back and she just - she makes eyes at him and feels like she's in tenth grade all over again and then-

Beckett spins around on her heel, mouth open to say something, anything - strong and forceful and strident - but she finds him right at her chest, a startled noise coming out of his mouth, hands up to grab her by the elbows and hold her in place.

As a zombie.

She tries in vain to marshal her defenses, but all those biting commands have fled, and instead she stumbles back.

He's a damn attractive zombie. So not fighting fair.

"Hey, I'm gonna go scare my kid," he grins.

And oh. Oh, how - how happy he looks.

No. No, wait. He doesn't get to do this. "So that's it?" she gets out.

He opens his mouth, closes it, the dark smudge of make-up creates a gaping effect that does strange things to her stomach.

"That's - this whole - all of this has been about. . .about that?"

And yeah, she _hears herself_, thank you, she does. And yeah, she still - they still aren't coming at it head on, are they? They keep coming at it from the side. It'll have to do for now.

"All this?"

"The whole - not - not so much recently," she says, trying to nudge his memory.

If possible, the human half of his face grows a little green. "Ah. I - Could - Yes."

The ignored calls, the stewardess, the glowering looks, the ride-along with Slaughter - all of that was because he didn't know the whole truth and he jumped to conclusions. Erroneous conclusions.

Her heart is pounding and she doesn't even know why. She tastes blood in her mouth, feels that rush of adrenaline that sings _fight_ through her whole body, but she doesn't even know from which direction her enemy comes.

From his?

Best let it go. Sideways, Beckett, remember? Come at it sideways.

"Hey," he says quickly. "I've got to go win the world's longest-running game of laser tag, but later, there's dinner-"

She shakes her head. "No. That's okay. Who knows how long laser-tag and - and zombies? - how long that takes."

"You could wait," he says quietly.

It's entirely disconcerting, his face half gnarled, his eyes an unnatural blue but intense and fixed on her.

_You could wait._

She doesn't know how - she is either fighting or fleeing, and to be honest, she does all of her running away just like this. Shaking her head, stepping back. Retreat and regroup, come back tomorrow.

Right? Tomorrow. They can do battle or draw peace tomorrow.

She presses her lips together, unwilling to allow the weakness.

Man up, Beckett.

"Okay," she says on a rush of choppy confidence. She swallows past her heart in her throat. "Okay, I'll wait. Dinner."

The zombie smiles, the man beams. "Yeah. I - I'll text you when the battle is over."

It's not even close to over, but -

But it's a battle of a different kind.

"You do that. I'll be here," she finishes, then lightly pushes him away.

He shuffles off, glancing back at her once over his shoulder, still with that pleased smile on his face, entirely ruining the effect.

That's okay. A little undead never hurt them.


	3. Insecure

_Insecure_

* * *

Okay, um. Still waiting.

Kate pushes her hair back over her ear and chews at her lower lip, then checks her phone again. No new notification, but she checks the messages anyway and-

No.

Hmm. Okay. Well.

She can wait at home too. Get out of the precinct. It still kinda reeks of the undead. (Prosthetics, stage makeup, fake blood.)

Kate gathers her phone, slides it into her jacket pocket. Then she finally turns off her monitor; it's been logged out for an hour now. She doesn't want to get caught by Gates and have paperwork added onto her already teetering inbox.

Kate has work to catch up on, but she doesn't want to do it. Lots of zombie interview statements. But she only wants one zombie and-

But he hasn't texted her yet so. . .

So yeah. She can wait at home just as easily.

Kate grabs her bag finally, swings it over her shoulder, and heads slowly for the elevator. Her place is - after all - closer to his. If they - if he even wants her to - well. Just.

Go home, Kate.

* * *

Okay. Still waiting?

Yeah.

Because this could be a test, maybe? And she doesn't deserve that, but maybe he needs it after all this confusion. Yeah, actually, it could be he's testing to see if she really will wait for him like he's done for her and if she does, then it affirms that he heard her right and he's not missing the point. And.

Okay, so she's still waiting.

Kate sighs and debates her closet. She's itchy - stage make-up irritating her skin - and she wants to change out of her work clothes, get into something more comfortable-

Oh. Oh not like-

Shit.

Okay. Slow down, Kate. This is just-

Ah. This is just Castle. And dinner. If he ever calls.

Maybe he forgot?

Oh, yeah. He's - what did he say? Playing laser tag with Alexis, and of course, he got totally sucked into it and they could be - who knows? - up all night and laughing and having fun doing whatever it is they do when two adults are playing laser tag and-

It sounds fun. And now she's standing in her shirt and underwear in her closet and all wistful about acting like a child in laser tag gear but-

Oh, it does sound-

Happy.

But she's here in her closet and she needs to make a decision.

Kate grabs jeans and a tshirt, then changes her mind and throws the tshirt back. Purple shirt instead and now black leggings. Just in case he - well, she's got to stop getting her hopes up for things that she's put too much emphasis on without telling him because it's just killing her when he-

Yeah.

Kate sheds the rest of her clothes and pulls on something comfortable, choosing at the last minute to go with yoga pants which she can still wear out if it's just Remy's or his loft even and she won't have to change out of her pajamas really.

Straddling the line this way.

She stretches her arms over her head, yawns, tries to relax.

No such thing as zombies. Fact. And she somehow told Castle what he apparently needed to hear even without her having to - to really get into it too deep. So. Everything is right in her world again.

But he still hasn't called.

Kate slides into her bed and picks up her phone from the bedside table. It's nearly eleven, and she's tired, but also not tired, and she wants to just get this over with.

Maybe he meant, yeah, in the future sometime, someday, he's there. But right now, he's - he's doing fun and uncomplicated? Like laser tag and stewardesses.

Oh.

Yeah, that could be true.

She's not very - she's a mess of complications. And that would make sense - everything these last few weeks and just - the way he's stepped back and protected himself. Isn't that what her therapist called it? Yeah.

Honestly, it might be better for him if he did. Keep him from getting hurt by her. She hurts him and doesn't even know it, apparently, so-

Her phone jumps in her hands and she gasps, heart pounding, scrambling to answer it.

"Kate."

"Kate?" he laughs. "Since when do you answer your phone like that?"

She tries to gather her wits and draws her knees up to her chest, pressing her forehead against her knees. "Since it's nearly eleven and no one from work better be calling me about a body."

"You saw my ID, didn't you?"

She doesn't say that she answered it before she could even look because that would be really pathetic, wouldn't it?

"Kate?"

"Yeah," she breathes through it, moves on. "You win epic laser tag?"

"Yessss," he draws out. "So won. But uh - we started a new game. She's choosing Columbia, and I promised to try to give her space. Oh, and it's nearly eleven. You said that. I lost track of time."

"That's okay-" Columbia?

"You already ate, didn't you? Damn. That's okay. I'll just - we can talk-"

"I haven't eaten," she says quickly, then winces at her eagerness. And oh no, she just basically told him she spent all night waiting. Didn't she?

"You waited for me," he murmurs.

Yeah. She did.

"And now I'm starving, Castle," she says, trying to get back on even ground.

"What are you wearing?"

What. What is she. What is she _wearing?_

"It's too late to go most places, but if you're - oh."

She laughs a little breathlessly as he finally gets it.

"Oh. Well. Yeah. Um, Kate? Anytime you wanna speak up and either tell me or tell me off, that would be good."

"Yoga pants and a purple shirt," she says, still on a laugh, something fluttering in her chest.

"Ah. Yoga pants are not acceptable dinner attire."

"Why not?" she says, indignant, lifting her head from her knees.

He huffs. "I meant - out. Or well, you can wear whatever you want out. But since you're already - okay, screw it. I was just gonna use that as an excuse to either have you come over here or let me come over there. For dinner, I mean. At home."

She can't keep the slow smile from spreading across her face. "Yeah." At home.

"Yeah?"

"Where, Castle?"

"Are you too comfortable to move?"

"I can move."

"Come over here, then," he says, so softly that her skin erupts in goosebumps.

"Castle?"

"Will you?"

"Yeah. But you better feed me well."

* * *

What is she doing?

This can't be a date. They can't do dates. _She _can't do dates. Not with him. It's too much. Too important and she is going to - this is going to mess up if it's now, if it's while everything isn't clear and the grass is still so green in that cemetery and her mother's blood so fresh in that alley and _crying out_ to Kate from the ground-

"Kate," he says.

The door is open; he's standing on the other side and smiling at her. And happy.

She gets pulled inside by the magnetism of that happiness, held out like a beacon and welcoming.

And warm.

"What did you make me?" she asks, letting him take her jacket. He just kinda tosses it to the couch, and she wonders if that's a sign that she shouldn't stay long. Or maybe that she should be so at home that she makes herself comfortable?

"I - I didn't," he says, turning wide eyes to her. "Was I supposed to? I just ordered in."

"From where?"

"That Chinese place-"

"Oh, no. That's perfect," she says, presses her hand to her stomach to dampen the growling.

Castle smirks at her and nudges her towards the kitchen island where he's set everything up.

Take out Chinese sitting on the bar stools at his counter isn't a date. Not in yoga pants. Not with his hair sticking up straight off his forehead like he's been all sweaty and running around, playing laser tag and generally making a wreck of things.

It's still okay. They're okay.

"So next time I suggest an otherworldly explanation for our killer, you are going to-"

"Not going to happen," she says quickly, loading her plate with lo mein and orange chicken and snap peas. "No such thing as zombies or ghosts or mermaids, Castle."

"Who do you think saved your life in the Hudson River if not a mermaid?"

She turns her head to him, chest caught by the feeling that blooms in her. "You."

"I'm no mermaid."

"But you did save my life."

He must hear it in her voice because he pauses, his eyes roam her face, and then gives her that little pleased smile, like it means something more now than it did then. It doesn't. There's no way it could because she's been here doing this with him the whole time.

"Still. I predict mermaids are next," he says, and even though his voice is quiet, it's rich and tenored too, so that it fills up all the spaces in her.

"Sure, Castle. Right. And after that, vampires?"

"We already had vampires."

"Oh, true. Yes-"

He gasps, making her startle, but the comedy on his face only has her laughing at him, shaking her head.

"No. I wasn't agreeing with you that they were vampires. You know it was just that sun allergy disease and people filing their teeth. And plain old murder."

"I know," he says, but oh, he sounds so pleased with himself. So smug. It shoots through her like arousal, and she can't help but crowd close to him at the container of fried rice, hold her plate out for some as he digs the spoon in.

He sighs dramatically at her but dishes out a serving right next to her orange chicken. She grins and grabs a fork from the counter, then sits down, waits on him to get done and sit beside her.

The stool isn't that close, but he manages to maneuver it in right against her. Their knees are together, thighs warm against each other, and his elbow keeps poking over into her space as he eats.

It's all an invitation. Everything. From the actual invitation to come over for dinner at his loft, to the press of his leg against hers, it's an invitation.

She longs to curl her body at his side, her chest pressed flat to his back, her cheek at the top of his shoulder and just accept it. She craves it.

But she can't do it.

There's just - still too much left undone, too much left unsaid, and if she can't even say it, say the things that need to be said and also be able to promise him a life when her mother's case isn't even close to over, then it's not fair to drape herself against him like some kind of fun and uncomplicated stewardess.

Not when she's complicated and dismal and still walking the fine edge between put together and falling apart.

She's got no faith in herself in this. And she needs to at least be certain of her own stupid self - because, be honest, it's not like she can truly trust him to be good at this either. Two divorces and his first instinct when he's hurt is to act petulant and closed off and flaunt _fun_ and _uncomplicated_ in her face in the forms of Slaughter and Stewardess?

"Hey, Kate. You're thinking too hard."

She lifts her head from the plate and stares at him, mouth opening but nothing coming out.

He looks like he wants to say more too, but he doesn't. Instead, he places his fork down on his plate carefully and reaches across the infinitesimal space between them and curls his hand over the one in her lap.

"Not doing this alone," he says quietly.

And he could mean anything. Any of it. Her mother's case, the wall, the therapy, their dinner, the job, _life_, and the thing is, she knows exactly what he means.

He means the wondering.

The doubts.

The hesitations and half-steps and turn arounds and the figuring stuff out.

And so she leans in and presses her flushed cheek to the cotton of his shirt, just over the wing of his shoulder blade, and she rests there against him.

His hand over hers flexes and then his fingers are trailing down the inside of her thigh to her knee and somehow, somehow drawing her ever closer.

When Kate finally opens her eyes, her gaze is drawn up along the line of the stairs to the girl standing there quietly, watching them from above.

Alexis doesn't wave, but their eyes meet and the girl gives Kate the faintest mere flicker of her mouth, before turning slowly and disappearing down the hall.

Kate closes her eyes again, tilts her forehead into his shoulder, tries to keep it from breaking her wide open.

And even still, even now.

She can't say the things that need to be said.

To anyone.


	4. Indomitable

_Indomitable_

* * *

She stands outside the interrogation room as the officer leads the guy away in handcuffs, that crush of righteous indignation freezing in her chest until she can barely keep it contained, barely keep from turning sharp and razor straight with it, brittle with the force of justice, her every breath slicing cold in her lungs.

Another murder solved. Closed. Final. She is _good_ at this. This is the one thing in her life she does flawlessly.

Castle appears at the stairs, coming down from the guys in Tech - she thinks he had another bet going or a thing at least - and he stands at her side, his warmth slowly thawing her out. His fingers brush at her thigh, his arm at her shoulder, and it feels like all the mortar holding her together is turning to mud, loose and liquid, the bricks shifting, the wall weaker, ever weaker, ramparts crumbling in on her.

The strange thing is, behind that wall she's still - here. She's still this. Fierce and alive and doing her job and solid. Strong. Nothing can take her down when it's like this, a confession from a murderer, a solid case, his presence at her side, and the barriers breaking down and her body like a tower rising from the rubble.

She could do this. She could do this _now._

Only him. Only he could-

"Castle," she says, turning on her heel, her eyes at the level of his. "Let's get out of here."

He grins, that lazy one, and his hands twitch, like he wants more instinctively. So she reaches out a hand, snags him by the fingers and squeezes. His body cants towards hers, too much, and she draws back with a quick look at him.

"Get your coat," she says finally.

He nods, releases her hand, and heads for his chair, for the coat slung over the back of it.

* * *

Who needs words?

This is good. Everything between them is right on the surface, bubbling, and she's powerful with it, shiny, feels it running through her blood and pounding out in her heart and just - everywhere - everything reflects how good this is.

He doesn't ask stupid questions, doesn't get petulant, doesn't do anything other than follow her lead and sit close beside her on the bench, knees and thighs and shoulders brushing, touching.

"This is messy," he laughs, cupping the gyro with one hand and trying to aim the spills over the ground.

It is messy but. But he keeps at it. He won't stop. Neither will she. She won't.

Central Park and the sun, Castle wrestling with his lunch, kind of adorable, and Kate Beckett wants nothing more than this. Everything is good.

"Eat it faster, maybe?" she suggests, watching him lose half of it to the dirt.

He groans and shoves another bite in; she goes back to hers, glad she kept the paper wrapped around it.

"Can I tell you something?" he says suddenly, swallowing his bite and looking at the gyro like he's planning his next move.

"Do you have to?" she says back, shrugging off the question.

"Hm. No. Don't have to. Thought it might interest you."

"Okay. Shoot."

A flicker on his face, a ripple to disturb the quiet pool of his eyes. "Just. Gonna say I really like this."

She smiles at him, nudges his shoulder with hers. "Yeah. Me too."

The ripples expand, form rings that overlap and create waves. He's going to rock the boat, and she just wants to enjoy this, the feeling of being tall in a crowd, being able to stand up under it all without even having to think about it.

"You sure we're not on the same side of that wall?" he asks then.

Doesn't even make a dent; she expected a prickle of awareness, but no. Whatever this is - still strong. Still holds up.

Been pretty battered lately, maybe it's finally become impervious. Maybe she's finally been pushed so far out there that-

Oh. "Which side am I on?" she asks. "In your scenario."

"My side," he offers, half question, hopeful eyes.

Her smile escapes before she can contain it; she can only do damage control, press her lips together, try not to let the answering grin on his face affect her. Oh but it does.

"I figured that," she says dryly, eyebrow raised. "I meant. Inside or out?"

He looks thoughtful, nods to himself. "Huh. Maybe it's a maze instead. Some walls, some not."

She groans and slumps her shoulders. "That's depressing. A maze? One little wall, I can get through. A whole maze?"

"Yeah, but we do it together. No problem." He shrugs at her, takes another bite of his gyro like it's no big deal.

"A maze," she sighs, but yeah. Could be. It feels gnarled, feels twisted up. Maybe she got to a dead end and just sat down in one spot and refused to budge, only let herself see the three walls in front and to either side of her. "That'll take forever, Castle."

"I like mazes. They're fun."

Fun.

"They are!" he insists.

"Sure."

"What's at the center of this one? Or is it a maze where you go in one side and try to find your way out?"

"Way out, hopefully. I don't want to discover I'm the Minotaur."

He chuckles at that, then puts down his food, glances at her slyly. "I'm good at mazes."

"I can see that," she says, hears her voice both amused and strong, wonders at it. How one day she's a mess and then the next she's in control of this. She's got it. It really is a maze.

He's smiling at her again, looking so hopeful; it's almost too much, that hope, and she doesn't want to dwell on it, why it's been missing or how it came back. She just wants to live here with it.

"Wanna get ice cream?" he says suddenly.

She nods to his gyro. "You finished with that?"

"Yeah. It's falling apart, but. Hold on."

He shoves the rest of it into his mouth and chews, looking ridiculous, licking his fingers, swallowing thickly. She waits for him, can't help watching him, and then he grins.

"Now I want ice cream."

"All right," she agrees, glad to just walk with him. Anywhere, in any direction. "Lead the way."

She stands up from the bench, wiping crumbs down her jeans, off her coat, and he's grabbing his trash and hers, bunching it up to toss it into the large green barrel. When he comes back to her side on the path, he reaches for her hand and takes it. Like it's nothing. Thoughtlessly.

But for her? It's a surge of energy, his hand closing over hers like they're completing a circuit; it makes her spine straight.

"Hey, Kate?"

"Yeah."

"If we run into a wall, we'll just turn around and go back the way we came, look for a new route."

She grins over at him as they walk. "Sure."

He holds up her hand between them, wriggles his fingers. "Hit a wall?"

Kate bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. Subtle. "Not yet."

"Say when," he murmurs, and he's so close, his body close, and she could. She could.

But.

"I'll let you know, Castle."


	5. Tigress

_Tigress_

* * *

Her mind isn't racing; she's also not shutting down. She's thinking, and she's going through her logic step by step, and even though she knows this isn't always something reasonable, it still makes perfect sense. What he said at lunch. It makes sense.

And this is the first time she's not felt the need to run to her therapist for a way through the maze.

They don't say anything as they lick slowly melting ice cream from their cones; Kate has to capture a drop of strawberry before it escapes down her wrist. She finishes the last of the waffle cone with a crunch, her mind made up, tosses the paper into the trash can.

This time when she looks over at him, she realizes that the distance she always thought she saw is really just the space between them. Space of their own making. Her own making. Space that can be breached.

Castle is still working at his ice cream; she thinks it's because he spent so much time watching her. Her tongue. Her lips around the pink-rimmed cone. It only convinced her of what she's known, and what she knows comes next.

As he tries to keep from getting completely messy, eating the cone over the dirt just as he had to with his lunch, Kate pulls her phone from her pocket and calls Gates. She gets voicemail and leaves a message, feeling Castle's startled eyes on her.

"This is Beckett. I'm taking a half day, sir. I need a long weekend."

When she ends the call and looks over at him, he's got a slow grin working its way across his face. "Half day. Playing hooky?"

"Just doing what needs to be done," she says, relishing the slow burn in her blood, the way his eyes make her warm. She points at his ice cream. "You done?"

"Not-"

She takes it out of his hands, tosses the last of it into the trash can beside their bench. His jaw drops; he looks like he's about to protest. Before he can, she reaches for him instead.

Hands curled in his jacket, she pulls herself across the short span between them, and she presses her mouth to his, open and ready.

Castle doesn't hesitate. His lips part and his tongue swipes at hers, slides inside. She tastes butter pecan and strawberry, the heat of his mouth, the rhythm of her kiss and his, the delicious and sharp bite of her teeth at his lip.

He pulls back first, staring right down into her, his breath on a groan.

Kate finally breathes. "Come home with me."

* * *

He's not saying no, he's not saying anything; his hand is tightly fisted around hers in the elevator.

She's glad he doesn't ask, grateful he doesn't need an explanation, but she wonders if it's entirely fair to him. She tries to formulated an answer as the lift rises towards her floor.

When the doors part and she steps out into her hall, Castle follows.

She has no problem getting the door unlocked; her hands are steady. She puts everything on the floor, steps out of her shoes, tugs on him until he crosses the threshold of her foyer and comes up against her in the kitchen. Mm, that's good.

She lets go of his hand to place her palms flat against his chest, slides his jacket off.

The sharp shock of his breath reminds her. She should say - something. He deserves to know before she - before she pounces on him.

"I've been thinking about this all wrong," she starts, pleased when his jacket hits the floor. "If my life is a maze that I have to work through to the end of-" She starts on the buttons of his shirt; she can already feel the hard pound of his heart. "-if it's as easy and as complicated as finding my way, if there's no wall between us, Rick, and I already love you, then why hold back?"

His hands grip her elbows. "You already-"

"Love you," she finishes, sliding her arms up his chest and around his neck, dislodging his bruising fingers. His eyes, his whole face is breaking open with light.

She lifts on her toes, surprised by the height difference now without her shoes, tugs on his neck to pull him down to her.

"Kate." Warning and need.

She narrows her eyes at him, intent, and takes what she wants.

* * *

"You're killing me," he groans.

She growls back at him and nudges him with her hips, pushing towards the bedroom. He's trying to get at the buttons of her shirt, but there's no space; he makes a noise in his throat that flares in her, makes her stumble and clutch at him.

He knocks his elbow into a bookcase; she realizes he's heading for her office, wrong way, tries to push him back with a shove, lips breaking apart. He retaliates by thudding her into the shelves and she arches on a gasp as his mouth claims her neck.

She lifts her thigh, rocks forward, hooks her fingers into the back of his belt and tugs him away, where she needs him to go. Castle trips at the edge of the couch, their bodies tangling and going down.

She laughs into his collarbone, presses his skin between her teeth, touches her tongue to it as they sink to the floor.

"Where the hell is your bed?" he pants, hands at her thighs and squeezing, thumbs pressing hard into her sartorious muscle, making her knees tighten around his hips, making her want want _want_.

"Not sure I can make it all that way," she says, something feral in her clawing to get out, take him here, finally have him.

"Not-uh," he mutters, and suddenly he's on his feet, dragging her up and then stepping away. "Not on the floor, Beckett."

She grins back at him, sly and intent, stalks towards him. She snags him by the front of his gaping open shirt, pulls him with her towards her bedroom.

* * *

"Gorgeous," he gasps, hands roaming, over and around and down and stroking up, never still, never staying where she wants, needs, but oh - oh - that - and- "You're so gorgeous, and your body feels so good-"

She bites into his neck, claiming him, the arch of her back pulling her away even as he does it again, again, makes her vision shrink to nothing and then sunburst apart, flames licking through her world.

_Castle._

* * *

When her frenzied heart finally lets her, she lifts up from his chest and slides to the sheets, her body close, cheek against the slack of his bicep. His arm curls lazily up and his fingers play at her ear, but his eyes don't open.

She watches him until she can't stay awake any longer.


	6. Everything

_Everything_

* * *

She's asleep.

The dark mane of her hair bleeds into the night. The white moon of her shoulder rises before him.

He uncurls his hand out on the mattress and runs his finger up her skin, just there, at the curve of her arm and the dip down to her back. Beautiful.

He sighs and squirms against the pillow to hollow out a little space, let him see her better. He's very close; their bodies still radiating heat, even now. He can almost feel the long draw of her breath as he lazily studies her.

He's never observed her like this before, never seen the way the darkness can't hold her, no matter how it tries, not when her skin blurs out, spilling light.

When he slides his fingers along her shoulder, he finds the soft cave of her hair, cups his palm at her neck, the warmth of her pulse at the heel of his hand.

She already loves him.

He didn't even - he barely had to fight for her. She already loves him. He waited, he got a little stupidly dispirited and nearly wrecked things, but he came back, because he will always come back - everything seems to revolve around her - and she already loves him.

Her eyes flicker open, sudden and serious in the dark, not yet aware. She blinks and then curves her body towards him, comes into his arms with a sighing breath and the downward dip of her lashes. On his back now, the strong length of her lining up with his, he strokes his hands up her spine and down, feels her shiver and start to wake.

Her thigh shifts; he sucks in a breath and hears her dark laugh, deep in her throat, half-asleep.

"Don't tease," he mutters.

"You started it," she shoots back, but he can hear the breathlessness in it.

"How'd I start it?" Remembering how she lunged for him, remembering how she took the ice cream out of his hands and threw it away and told him to come home with her.

"Touching me. In my sleep. All over."

He grins in the dark drape of her hair, brushes it back to look at the smiling curve of her cheek. "Not quite all over. But I can remedy that-"

She laughs and lifts her head from him, uses her toes against his shins to push herself up his body and kiss him. Surprised, delighted by that little move, he cradles her head and keeps her close, light touches of his lips to hers, adoring.

Her body shimmies against his and he sucks in a breath, staring. She's still grinning. "Thought you said you were gonna remedy that?"

"Oh. My bad. Now?"

"Now. And later too. And then when I wake at five, you can convince me that I don't need to go for a run-"

"I can definitely do that," he growls. Who knew she was so - so coy and clever and _funny_ in bed? Well, he might have guessed it, if he ever let himself truly imagine the after. Or the in between? If he ever allowed his imagination to torture himself with the way she might be with him.

"Get to touching, Castle. Stop dallying."

He flips her over with a arch of his eyebrow, presses his body down into hers, feels her opening to him.

He's said it before, but maybe it's not enough. He wants to say it again, all the time, so it doesn't clench in his chest so much.

Looking up at him like that, eyes both dark and bright, she's fierce and gorgeous and somehow shy - she's everything.

"Kate," he says softly, needing her to know. Again. Once more.

_With feeling._

"Yeah?" she says, her lashes limned in a light that just pours out of her.

"I already love you too."


End file.
